As Chicago entered a strict lockdown in March 2020, young members of the community helped the parish transition to broadcasting its liturgies and some of its weekly offerings, like Bible studies, on Zoom.

One young man even visited the home of an elderly parishioner to help her connect to the parish's livestream.

When the pastor of the historically Black Catholic church, the Rev. David Jones, saw how the Zoom liturgies and Bible studies were helping older members of the community overcome their isolation, he challenged the parish team to come up with online programming for every day of the week.

"The beauty that I witnessed was the community that was formed," said Father Jones.

Around 20 people, or 10 percent of the parish's virtual Sunday Massgoers, tune in every day at noon for discussion groups or weekly to pray the rosary.

They also have special events like highlighting of local entrepreneurs, holding Bible studies, a speaker series or a hush harbour, a service featuring spirituals and speeches that dates to slave gatherings in antebellum America.

The daily Zoom group is made up of parishioners who were not well acquainted before the pandemic, but who have become close thanks to daily conversations.

Now, when one person is unable to call in by Zoom, as happened recently when a member was sick, the group works together to make sure the missing member is all right.

"They've gone from not knowing each other's names to knowing each other's medical histories," Father Jones joked.

The parish, like many I contacted for this article, has not seen a significant decrease in Sunday attendance since switching to online liturgies.

In fact, at St. Benedict, some Massgoers who previously attended occasionally now attend online every Sunday, Father Jones said.

The parish also sees new possibilities in using online connections not just for evangelization but for fostering greater involvement of young people, stabilizing parish finances with online giving and creating accessible communities for isolated parishioners.

In dioceses where the coronavirus pandemic forced the suspension of in-person Masses, live-streamed Masses became the de facto replacement for many parishes.

Although no comprehensive data exists on the number of churches that have adopted live streaming, Georgetown University's Center for Applied Research in the Apostolate found that almost nine in every 10 dioceses in the United States have helped their churches set up online giving during the pandemic.

This could indicate that churches understand the need to reach out virtually now—both in terms of donations and community-building to keep their doors open in the future.

And Catholics are seeking out spiritual resources.

Google search traffic for "Catholic Mass live stream" and similar terms skyrocketed in mid-March 2020, reaching a peak last Easter.

In Italy, Pope Francis' televised daily Masses reached a million viewers on cable TV.

In the early days of the pandemic, the widespread embrace of streaming liturgies led theologians to publicly debate a number of questions.

Among them were:

• Do live-streamed Masses really allow for the active participation of the laity?
• Does filming Masses hurt decorum?
• Is it clericalist for only priests to be receiving Communion during the pandemic?
• Considering the shortcomings, should we be livestreaming Masses at all?

These were and still are questions worth asking, but one year later, the vast majority of more than 70 Catholics I spoke with by phone, email and social media agreed that they had benefited from the experience of worshiping through a livestream Mass—and hoped to continue to do so.

In particular, individuals who are homebound, have a disability or are immunocompromised, along with their families, expressed gratitude for the services.

Most people I spoke to expressed a deep desire to return to in-person Mass but hoped that online offerings would continue indefinitely for those who are unable to attend even in normal times.

Others found solace in watching live-streamed liturgies from parishes around the country or from organizing their own liturgies of the word in their homes or online.

These Catholics' stories of resilience are a testament to what Archbishop Arthur Roche, secretary of the Vatican's Congregation for Divine Worship, told me in a podcast interview during Holy Week last year.

When I asked what he had learned about worship during the pandemic, he said, "Our Catholics are as creative as our priests are, and they won't let this time pass without celebrating what is the certainty of their faith."

Talking Tech

Early in the pandemic, in those last weeks of March 2020, the parish Livestream landscape was fairly barren.

A handful of tech-savvy priests set up Facebook Live broadcasts, but most parishes went dark, assuming the suspension on public Masses would soon be lifted.

As Easter drew closer, more and more churches hurried to implement Livestream Mass in time for the most important day of the church year.

Many of those parishes ran into two main challenges: the cost of the equipment required for live streaming and a lack of technical expertise.

Nicole Bazis, director of parish services at St. Margaret of Antioch Parish in Narberth, Pa., said her parish was lucky to have adequate funding and a young staff member to help with the parish's new online Masses.

Nearby parishes, she said, had not been so lucky.

Some set up GoFundMe pages to raise money for live streaming equipment.

At wealthier parishes, the transition was seamless, according to those with whom I spoke.

But parishes operating on shoestring budgets exacerbated by the pandemic—many of whom could not afford to extend the range of internet coverage in order to reach their church buildings, much less purchase cameras or broadcasting equipment—settled for streaming private Masses from the rectory on the priest's smartphone.

Financial issues aside, many parishes struggled to find someone who could run their livestream.

Bill Trentel, a parishioner at St. Clement and St. James Parishes in Lakewood, Ohio, learned quickly how to set up a Livestream with almost no previous experience.

Each Sunday, he alternates between the two parishes, which share a pastor.

He is one of four people working on the broadcasts. "I embraced the challenge of helping bring our parish Mass to our entire community," Mr. Trentel said. "It has given me purpose during these difficult times."

One important consideration for parishes setting up livestream Masses is whether to create a videoconference, in which parishioners can see one another, or only show the sanctuary area.

At St. Benedict the African in Chicago, choosing the former helped lead to a strong sense of community among those in attendance.

The Catholics I spoke to for this story generally agreed that the Zoom format was more intimate, even if they typically attended the more usual livestream.

Marcus Mescher, a professor at Xavier University in Cincinnati, Ohio, and a parishioner at Bellarmine Chapel on the university campus, said his family switched from their parish's livestream to a Zoom Mass on Christmas.

"I felt more like a participant than a spectator and felt more solidarity with all those gathered (because I could see their faces) than seeing the viewer count on YouTube if it had been a Bellarmine Mass," Dr. Mescher wrote in an email.

But a Zoom Pro account, which is required for video conferences over 40 minutes long, costs $150 per year for calls with up to 100 participants and more for larger crowds.

That can be cost-prohibitive for some parishes.

Leaving No One Out

The group that perhaps has benefited most from live-streamed Masses is made up of those who had difficulty going to Mass in person even in pre-pandemic times: the homebound, those with disabilities or disabled family members and those whose work schedules prevent them from attending Mass regularly.

Now many of them find themselves connected to parish communities in ways that previously were impossible. Continue reading

Clergy are streaming live coverage of themselves celebrating the Eucharist and inviting others to join in by watching.

As lockdown eases in some places, the latest desire is to have a system - similar to that used for social distancing in shops - so that people can "receive Communion".

One group of clergy have gone so far as to issue rubrics on when the presider is to wear or not wear a face mask!

Meanwhile, many Catholics have expressed their sadness, now bordering on anger in some cases, that they cannot participate in liturgy.

Except that is not what they are saying: the form of their complaint is that if the church is closed they cannot have access to adoration of the Blessed Sacrament.

If they can only have streamed Mass, they cannot receive Holy Communion - and they want this because it is receiving the actual body of the Lord.

And, from their point of view, they are glad that there are many presbyters, and even a few bishops, who are supporting their demands to the civil authorities: they want the right to be able to go into their churches and do what they want.

They want churches in which to pray, so this demand should be fulfilled.

It seems no more standard Catholic practice. What could be more basic that "hearing Mass" and "receiving Communion"?

It also seems to be a matter of civil rights. They see themselves as being deprived, indeed oppressed. Is not freedom of worship mentioned in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights?

What's not to like?

Other Catholics, clerical and lay, are less bothered by not be able to be physically present at the liturgy.

After all, one can hear all the words, listen to the readings, hear the sermon, hear the priest saying the Eucharistic Prayer and see what he does (sometimes even more clearly than in the church)… So what's not to like?

It is true that one cannot receive actual communion, but there is "spiritual communion" that provides one with grace even if the wafer is not eaten. Isn't the end result the same?

Some say they listen more carefully sitting in their own living rooms than when they're in the distracting building. In privacy in front of the computer or TV, one can be quiet, private and prayerful. Did not Jesus recommend as much?

You see, you hear and you learn, all that is to be learned!

"The worship mall"

Moreover, most Catholics - though they do not admit it in the way members of other Christian denominations do - have the attitude that American liturgist Bryan Spinks calls "the worship mall": you pick the kind of worship you like.

I hear of people "shopping around" - note the phrase - "on the web" for the Mass they like best. One person I know goes on a web search every morning and samples "streamed Masses" until she finds one she fancies, and it adds spice to life to find another the next day.

Some have found "very good Masses" that just suit them. There is a priest in Ireland who has long had a local reputation for a "quick Mass" and for one-liner sermons on Sundays.

Barely 11 minutes most days and he makes a point of no Old Testament readings! If you like your religion fast and without frills, now that there's web access, he's your man!

Many people have become very discerning liturgical customers. Before the lockdown, when they were going to the nearby church, they never realized one could have so many tailored variations!

The web is an individualist's utopia!

Catholics of the same place or parish now have a choice. Each can go to his or her own space, even simultaneously, choosing the streamed Mass each one wants.

No need to argue here about whether or not there should be badly sung Latin chant or drippy 1970s folk hymns! There is an armistice in the liturgical culture war.

Chacun à son goût. Or, perhaps, de gustibus non disputandum est. Your choice!

New rituals

When one says in a secular context that human beings construct their universe through shared rituals, many sneer and think that is just a theologian trying to smuggle religion back into the public space.

Yes, people used to have rituals, but that was in an older world of pomp and circumstance, now we just "cut to the chase"!

But the virus has seen rituals re-emerge within lockdown. Here in Britain most of us go outside every Thursday at 8 pm and clap our hands as an expression of thanks to our medical workers - I hope for those in care homes also - who are on the front line in coping with the virus.

It seemed to me a bit corny when I heard of it happening in Spanish cities - but now it has spread, literally, to my front door.

The TV channels announce that the common moment is approaching and cover it with scenes from around the country, firemen in one place, a street scene somewhere else, and outside my neighbours have improvised drums from saucepans and wooden spoons.

We are together - but correctly distanced - and we are acting spontaneously, expressing thanks and interdependence. We are being joyful in a vale of tears and expressing that we are a community, not just loners.

It is an attempt - as we say - "to give something back".

Ritual is conveying that which we could not otherwise convey. It is expressing our situation and we are going out of ourselves to be a thankful community.

There are umpteen little rituals like this that are emerging.

Just take the farewell: "stay safe!" It is a cross between the Gaelic word for "goodbye" which is slán leat(literally: may health be with you') and the Latin vale (may things go well for you).

It expresses not just "that's over" (as in "bye bye now"), but says that I am concerned for you in this time and I not only hope you will be well, but want us both to do all that we need to do to maintain that state.

It is a social pleasantry, a wish, but also an instruction about action. It is a ritual boundary marker more similar to the old "Let us move forward in peace" (Procedamus in pace) than to the banal "Cheerio! See ye!" we would have used several weeks ago.

Transactions

We live in a world of transactions. I do something for you; and you, in return, do something for me. It is the very nature of all commerce. I have something you want, and vice versa, so we exchange to suit our needs and desires.

We should not criticize this process. This is what has built our world. It creates links and fosters peaceful co-operation.

It can, of course, get out of hand when someone corners the market and abuses fair-trading.

People cashing in on the sale of Personal Protection Equipment (PPE) or using medical kit as political leverage during this crisis are examples of the transactional nature of human life running amok. But we try to spot robber barons and control them.

However, the transactional nature of our lives - which is the rationale underpinning every shop and every wage packet - can get out of kilter in other ways.

An obvious one is consumerism: I am only alive to the extent that I consume. I am what I buy.

Now the ability to trade becomes an obsession. I reduce everything to its ability to satisfy my needs and "devil take the hindmost" so long as my wants, desires, "needs" (i.e. not what I need such as food, shelter, relationships but "what I really, really want") are satisfied.

I am the center of the world; it flows into me and is only recognized insofar as it suits me. And so long as you have the money flowing in the opposite direction, there are many out there who want to confirm you in your consumerism (for exorbitant prices, of course).

One giant "free meal"

But there is another danger of transactionalism that can only be understood by those who belong to the great monotheistic faiths (Judaism, Christianity and Islam) and believe that the Creator freely chooses to create and so the whole universe is a divine gift.

It is one giant "free meal" that contradicts the transactional wisdom of "there's no such thing as a free lunch"!

Knowing this - that God is generosity and love - we discover two recurring human errors.

The first is that we think that transactions are all that there is in the universe - this is the theory of the selfish gene. We seek to explain everything in terms of exchanging needs/assets.

For example, love is just an illusion that dresses up a trade-off in romantic terms. No human being is capable of pure "gift love" - to use a beautiful term coined by C.S. Lewis - because only God is without needs.

We humans also know that there is a profound difference between genuine human love and someone who only performing a job.

One has just to look at that kind of love that makes someone who is poorly paid go on caring right now in a care home - and one sees that love is more than trading.

Extracting what I want

But there is a second error we continually fall into as monotheists. We imagine the relationship with God in terms of transactions.

This was fine in the polytheism of the Roman Empire where it was summed up in three words: do ut des. We could render it thusly: "I give to you, some god or other praise and sacrifice so that you give me what I want."

Sadly, the attitude was carried on into Christianity. The result was to "get Masses said" for particular needs and to make vows in order to obtain something!

Transactionalism not only perverts the Christian vision of the God of infinite generosity - love itself - into a stingy Supreme Overlord from whom we try to extract favours, it destroys our relationship with God.

It is no longer love and praise, in union with the whole people to whom I belong. Rather, it is extracting what I want. And, as befits a transaction, I want the best value going. I want the most for the least cost.

The current crisis has brought us, on the one hand, a very genuine liturgy of a community celebrating thankfulness together. One could say that we are being Eucharistic towards health workers.

But, on the other hand, it has brought us a lot of transactionalism: "I want to receive communion"; "I want my time before a tabernacle"; or "I want my kind of liturgy."

Two visions: consumers or celebrants?

We see the ritual of liturgy being streamed and we see the ritual on our doorsteps: which is more in line with, and more prophetic of our vision of the universe?

The coronavirus crisis has brought before us many who think liturgy is a matter of what the rubrics allow or what is "permissible". It has also brought out many people imagining that liturgy is something you get, or which clerics provide.

Perhaps this was inevitable. We have a long history of treating God as "the man upstairs" whose favour we try to corner, or as the policeman who checks off that we have done what he told us to do.

Moreover, much of our popular piety, inherited from a time when the piety of ordinary people rarely touched the official liturgy of the clerics, is deeply transactional and individualistic - and the crisis has made this visible.

And, of course, we know what we like. And we often demand what we like without asking any deeper questions.

But think about that woman who told me - just last Sunday - that she liked "shopping around for Mass". I suspect it reveals a deeper theological confusion than when she surfs between Amazon and Book Depository to see which has the best deal on a book!

In liturgy we are not consumers, but celebrants. Yes: each of us is a celebrant and not just the cleric who is leading the gathering.

It is we - as a people, not just a bunch of individuals - who are celebrating God's love.

Think again of the Thursday night ritual. We are all celebrating, we are all celebrants. We are certainly not out there, with our saucepans and wooden spoons, as consumers.

• Thomas O'Loughlin is a priest of the Catholic Diocese of Arundel and Brighton and professor of historical theology at the University of Nottingham (UK). His latest book is Eating Together, Becoming One: Taking Up Pope Francis's Call to Theologians (Liturgical Press, 2019).

Vatican spokesman Matteo Bruni says on 18 May, Francis will celebrate his daily morning Mass at the tomb of St. John Paul II inside St. Peter's Basilica. The mass will mark the centenary of St John Paul IIs birth.

"As he has been able to affirm in recent days, the pope hopes that the People of God will thus be able to return to communal familiarity with the Lord in the sacraments, participating in the Sunday liturgy and resuming, also in churches, the daily attendance of the Lord and his word," Bruni says.

Pope Francis began livestreaming daily Mass at the beginning of Italy's national lockdown, so Catholics could "virtually" attend a daily liturgy.

One Vatican official says the faithful may again attend liturgies inside the Vatican's Saint Anne's parish, as well as St. Peter's Basilica. However this will depend on whether the Italian authorities allow access to the square.

The Vatican banned guided visits and tourists from visiting the basilica in March, when the nationwide lockdown began.

Initially, only people who wished to enter the basilica for prayer were allowed in. However Italian police barred anyone from entering who did not have what they deemed legitimate work motives.

Despite being a part of the Vatican City State, St. Peter's Square under the 1929 Lateran Treaty is subject to the authority of Italian police for crowd control, unless the pope is present.

So far the Vatican has not announced when the pope's weekly general audiences and Sunday Regina Coeli/Angelus addresses, which have also been livestreamed amid the ban on public gatherings, will again be held in the square with the public.

Source

• Crux Now
• Image: Catholic World Report